The Kingdom of Darkness
by Gemma-2012
Summary: When Thranduil learns about his son's captivity, he is sure there is nothing that can prevent him from defeating some powerless orcs and saving Legolas. But things are not what they seem, and the Elvenking is faced with a terrible dilemma. Is he prepared to make any sacrifice to rescue his son, and what would it cost him and his kingdom? Movie based. Contains spoilers for BOFA.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**The Hobbit**__._** This story is for entertainment purposes only.**

**Contains spoilers for **_**The Battle of the Five Armies**_**!**

**Chapter 1 **

**Unsettling news**

It was supposed to be a festivity. There was, indeed, a lot to celebrate: victory, coming home, staying alive. Especially staying alive. Their forest was cleaner now too, and all of them had to be joyful. They were not, however, and no one was to blame. No one except, of course, orcs who had killed their loved ones in the battle.

They were sitting on stumps, dressed in green and brown clothes, passing drinks to one another, looking at the fire, their faces devoid of any expression. There were no songs, there were hardly any words. The celebration was silent.

The king was sitting on a throne. His long grey cloak was cascading to the ground, its rich fabrics glowing in the moonlight. His head was adorned by a crown with red berries and orange leaves and his hands were decorated with four rings. He was holding a glass of red wine in his right hand and was occasionally drinking from it. It was his favorite wine.

Aelar, a young servant, approached his throne, keeping a respectful distance. He bowed clumsily; to the extent an elf could be clumsy. He had come to the Elvenking Halls recently, and it showed.

"My Lord, the harpist has arrived," Aelar said. "What music should she play?"

He bowed even lower, obviously trying very hard to look calm and failing miserably.

"I leave it to her choice," Thranduil said indulgently.

The servant went towards the harpist, who was sitting in the midst of the field, tuning her ancient instrument. He said something to her, and she turned her head towards the king, inclined it and started playing. Thranduil looked at her intensely, her eyes were red. She had lost two brothers on the battlefield. The melody filled the air; it was sad, too sad for his taste. He sighed silently.

"Your Majesty," said a voice from behind him. "You Majesty, I am afraid we have some unsettling news."

The king turned his head and looked at the elf who had addressed him. It was Erdan, the guard who was temporarily performing Captain of the Guard's functions.

"I am listening," Thranduil said.

"Spiders, my Lord."

"What of them? Have they not fled this forest?"

"We thought they had, my Lord. But some of them came back. They are not as powerful as before but they still represent a great danger."

"In this case, they should be destroyed. It should not present any difficulty to my guards. At least, I hope it will not."

The guard pressed his lips.

"Indeed, it should not, Your Majesty, but spiders are still great in amount. It was Tauriel who was better than anyone at combatting them. If she could return to…"

"To her duties?" Thranduil got up. "The Captain of the Guard will return to her duties when I tell her to do so. Now, please return to your own duties. The forest must be cleansed no matter what. This is an order, and, like all of my orders, it is expected to be obeyed."

"Yes, my Lord."

The guard inclined his head slightly and moved away, too fast to try to be respectful.

"Continue with the festivity," Thranduil said to the elves on the field.

He walked away, without turning around, without looking back to the grief-stricken faces. He heard that the music had ceased immediately. Soon there would be nothing but silence.

He went straight to his study, and shut his door. No one, not even his personal servants, had the right to enter there without his express permission. Not even the prince would have had that right, had he been in the Halls. He was not there, though.

The king spent the rest of the night in his study, reading and studying maps. If spiders were in Mirkwood, they had to be expelled as soon as possible. Why were they still there? That was another question. Not an easy one to answer.

He heard a hardly perceptible noise and lifted his head. Someone was walking outside, not far from his window. He knew who it was; it was repeated night after night. Tauriel. She was there, in the underground garden, in the company of starlight that was weakly leaking from the few skylights. She had liked walking like that before. Now, however, it was different. Now she was mourning. He would make her return to her post soon. It would be better for anyone, especially for her.

Towards the end of the next day he received woodmen visitors. Unexpected visitors, as he hardly ever had contact with those wild and unpredictable creatures. They had come from beyond the Old Forest Road. They were in danger, they said. Spiders were pestering them, not allowing them to live in peace in their own forest. The king could not suppress a smile. Their own forest!

"Go back and fight for your land," he said to them. "It is small but, like any other land, it is worth being defended."

They looked at him with their unblinking eyes, a familiar look of distrust and hatred. One of them made a movement towards his throne but was immediately stopped by one of his eight personal guards.

Thranduil owed those creatures no explanations. Yet, he would give them one.

"Are you expecting me to rush to your aid, to leave my Halls and to fight for your small territory? It is a pity to disappoint you but…"

"My Lord, my Lord!"

Interrupting the king was out of question. Whoever it was, he must have had his reasons, extremely serious reasons.

A guard was running towards the throne, all respect and etiquette forgotten. He was panting and his front glistered with sweat.

"My Lord," he said, kneeling on one knee in front of Thranduil. "Terrible news, my Lord. Erdan's army has been attacked. He is seriously injured. He may be even dead by now."

Thranduil pressed his lips and briefly clenched the seat of his throne with his hands.

"How could that happen?" he said.

"Spiders, my Lord. They were not many but they were extremely aggressive, much more aggressive than before. They took them by surprise and destroyed the whole army. And they came very near, my Lord. They have never ventured so far to the north before."

Had never have ventured so far before. Thranduil knew why they had. They were desperate. They had lost the support from Dol Guldur and were attacking without any leader, without any actual plan.

The king got to his feet.

"Prepare my elk and my best guards. You," he said, addressing the messenger, "will show us the way."

The relief on the other elf's face was a rather satisfying thing to behold.

"You were not so eager to come to our help, Elvenking," the woodman said.

"Of course I was not." The king did not even bother to look at him. "Your lands are your lands, and mine are mine."

_I have already lost enough of my people in that accursed battle_, he was going to add, but he did not. It was not those creatures' business. He waved his hand, dismissing the woodmen.

He changed clothes in his room, with his servants' assistance. The red cloak he put on was still regal and, at the same time, practical.

Then he went to the underground courtyard. Mormeril, his elk, was already waiting there, stamping his feet with clear signs of impatience. He was still young and inexperienced, but he was good. Not as good as his father, though, who had fallen in the battle.

"I am taking Birel with me," Thranduil said to Laindir, one of his main guards. "She is one of my best soldiers. You will stay in the Halls and take the command in her absence."

He looked at Tauriel. She was sitting at the fountain, near the windows of his study. Her head was low, her hands dipped in the water. It was not time for her. Not yet.

He has already mounted when he saw a commotion near the gates. One of the guards ran towards him.

"Your Majesty," he said, "I bring some terrible news."

He was not looking the king into the eyes.

"Don't you think it would be too much terrible news for a single day?" Thranduil said, his lips curling in a wry smile. "Be grateful that I am not one of those monarchs who blame the messengers for the news they bring."

"The prince, Your Majesty." The guard lifted his head furtively but lowered it immediately. "He was seen in Gundabad. There are rumors he had been captured by orcs and is being held prisoner."

Thranduil looked at him intently and, lifting the guard's head, stared into his eyes. There was confusion there, confusion and anxiety.

"Orcs," the king said. "What can they be doing at Gundabad after their leaders' death?"

"I do not know, my Lord."

Of course he did not. How could he know?

"There are rumors, you say. Rumors are a very vague word. Who exactly is responsible for these rumors?"

"Birds, my Lord. They brought us the news."

Birds. They were neither dwarves, nor humans and nor wizards – they could be trusted.

Thranduil jumped from the elk and went to the fountain, his pace quicker than it usually was.

"Tauriel, you must come with me," he said. "Legolas is being held in Gundabad."

"He died because of me." She was looking at her reflection in the water. "I should not have gone to Ravenhill. I only distracted him."

"Have you heard what I have just said?"

He lifted her head, gently taking her by the chin. She pulled away.

"He was there alone, with no help from anyone, fighting Bolg on his own," she said, looking him straight in the eyes.

"He was there because he followed his king and uncle, and he was not alone. Legolas was also there, and I remind you it was he who killed Bolg."

His patience with her, despite his best intentions, was growing thin.

"Pity he did it too late," she said.

They looked at one another. There was sadness in her eyes. Sadness and something else; something between distrust and reproach.

"There is no time for this now, Tauriel," he finally said. "Legolas needs my help. You must go with me to Gundabad. I know you went there with Legolas, and I need you to show me where you have been and tell me everything you know."

She finally averted her gaze.

"I cannot, Your Majesty. Not now. I need time."

"Time is something we do not have right now."

To be patient was not simply difficult anymore, it was becoming impossible. But that was the only way with her at the moment.

"Obey my order, Tauriel, or you will regret it."

"You are threatening again," she said, her eyes sparkling with anger. "You always do when you need something. You threaten, you lie, you turn your back to your allies, you break your promises. And this is the king who should protect us, the king we must all obey!"

She got up and clenched her fists.

"Tauriel," he said, "calm down. It is not you who are speaking, it is your grief. You really loved that dwarf."

"Kíli". A huge tear started running down her cheek. "His name was Kíli."

"You loved Kíli. But now it is time to move on. My people need you. Legolas needs you."

He had to pull those words out of his mouth. There were leaders very fond of that kind of speeches. He was not among them.

"I am telling you, for the second time, I cannot go anywhere," she said, sitting down. "I need time."

"I cannot give you that time." He slammed his fist on the stone; he was not going to but he did. "Do your words mean you are refusing to accompany me?"

He stood up and looked down at her. She was breathing loudly, not meeting his eyes once more.

"They do," she said.

He turned around abruptly, and started walking away.

"Your Majesty," she said. He stopped but did not turn his head. "I hate you, Your Majesty. I really do. And I am so happy I can finally tell you this. I was momentarily fooled by the sympathy you showed me on Ravenhill. _He understands me, _I thought. _He even allows me to go back to Mirkwood. _But now I know better, it was one of your tricks. You wanted to humiliate me with your misplaced and fake kindness, to make me serve you like a slave. And I hate you more than ever. If you had gone to Ravenhill with your army, Kíli, he would not be dead, he would not… And I… And we would be…"

The violent sobs racked her body. Thranduil did not move, he did not even blink.

"Are you coming with me to Gundabad to help Legolas?" he said. "Think twice before you answer, Tauriel. It is the last time I am asking you this."

"No."

Her answer was nothing but a whisper. It was firm, nevertheless.

"You are banned from my kingdom, Tauriel," he said. "Leave immediately and never come back. If you do, you will be imprisoned for life. And this life will not be long, as you will certainly die from shame, which is, on the other hand, what you rightly deserve."

"There is no love in you," she said, her voice becoming unexpectedly calm. "There has never been. I said it once and I may spend my life – as short as it may be because of your cruelty - repeating it. There is much more life in your crown – at least it has flowers in it – than inside your stone heart. But, my Lord…" Her voice was not simply calm; it became what it had never been before – sarcastic. "I am not afraid of you, I have never really been. Now all I want is to die. And there is nothing wrong with it. I do not consider my life more valuable than anyone else's life only because I am supposed to be immortal."

He walked away, his red cloak flying in the air.

"Make sure Tauriel, the Captain of the Guard - the former Captain of the Guard - leaves the Halls by nightfall," he said to Laindir. "Make also sure she neither remains in my kingdom nor comes back ever again. If she does, she should be detained until my next orders. Tell Edenil and Varis to take two hundred guards with them and to locate Erdan's army immediately. Order them not to come back until this part of the forest is cleaned. I will not tolerate spiders in my land anymore."

When he walked towards his elk and mounted, the beautiful creature sniffed, moving his horned head, his nostrils flaring with anger. Such animals always reflected their rider's mood.

_Thank you very much for reading! Reviews are much appreciated. Happy Holidays!_


	2. Chapter 2

mjg43, thewomanwhosoldtheworld, lotrhobbit fan and SongOfTheDark, thank you for your reviews! And thank you to everyone who has added my story to the Story Alert or to the Favorite Stories list!

**Chapter 2**

**Gundabad**

Thranduil and his guards were scrambling through the dark trees of Mirkwood, alongside the Forest River. Their pace was good, though Thranduil wished it had been faster. He remembered the name of each and every one of his guards. He remembered many other things he wanted to forget. Some of the guards were holding bows and some, swords. All of them were immortal and ready to give their lives for their king.

The first spider appeared rather soon; Thranduil heard it coming before they had reached the Mountains of Mirkwood. The spider was looking at him with its small black eyes, ready to jump at any moment. Uruvion, one of the youngest guards, was the first to react. He directed the bow towards the spider's head and fired. The arrow ended up stuck in a trunk of a tree.

"My Lord, step back," said Uruvion, going pale.

He did not have time to do anything, though, as Thranduil's sword hit the spider on its neck. The head rolled away, the body shaking in convulsions.

"Your king never steps back," Thranduil said cutting spider's twitching legs with a single sweep of his sword. "And you get a reprimand. If I could only imagine that, instead of fighting my enemies, you would hurt this forest's trees, you would have remained in the Halls. Or, better yet, you would have never served as my guard."

"My Lord, I…"

"I have not asked you a question, and am not expecting any answer."

The king cleaned his sword on a grass and, with a hardly perceptible gesture, put it back. He was about to mount when he made a halt. His hearing, incredibly acute even for an elf, picked up a noise produced by fast legs running on the ground.

"My guards, Shelob's descendants are honoring us with their presence," he said, wielding his sword with his long fingers. "We must welcome them. Uruvion, you will look after my elk and the horses."

They had to wait for a long time but no one, except the discretely sighing Uruvion, moved a single muscle. When those creatures finally appeared from behind the old oaks, the king was disappointed. Gigantic spiders did not seem gigantic at all and, instead of attacking immediately, started moving their black hairy legs fearfully.

"Is this all you are capable of?" Thranduil muttered, facing one of the spiders, the biggest one.

And then something utterly unexpected happened. The spider, getting up on his back legs, jumped at him, lowering his body immediately and thus burying him underneath. But Thranduil was far from being desperate, he was not even worried. Along his long life worse things had happened to him, much worse. Nothing was really happening now, apart from the fact that a rather big spider was crushing him with its awfully smelling stomach.

It was not easy to use a sword in such position, but not at all impossible, and, seconds later, the weapon was inside the animal's flesh. There was a terrible noise. The spider's body twisted in agony and hit the king several times while he was trying to put his sword away. The weapon was stuck, and the king felt, not without annoyance, that it was becoming difficult to breath. Of all the possible ways to die, that was probably the silliest one. But then the spider's body was lifted by three pairs of hands, and Thranduil saw that Uruvion was respectfully giving him his hand. The archer's gesture was ignored.

"All in your places," the king said, getting on his feet without help. "Uruvion, I do not remember having cancelled my order to look after my elk and the horses."

The sympathetic look thrown by Beril to Uruvion did not, of course, escape the king's notice. Nothing ever did. But it was irrelevant, especially taking into account that more spiders were attacking.

The fight lasted longer that Thranduil would have wished. Spiders were moving at incredible speed and the guards, despite all their strength, were getting tired. But finally Thranduil gave the mortal blow to the last of the spiders.

They continued their journey immediately, without even taking a rest. They had already lost their precious time. Thranduil could hardly move his right hand after having been crushed by the spider, but there was not any reason to slow down.

The rest of the journey was surprisingly uneventful. After crossing the western borders of Mirkwood, they continued following the Forest River and, leaving the Greylin River behind, penetrated into the Grey Mountains.

The air was getting more oppressive, Thranduil could feel it, even more than in Mirkwood. Almost as oppressive as in Mor… No. No matter how bad, that air could have never been as heavy as in that place. The comparison would have been simply absurd.

The journey went on and on. One mountain was replacing the previous one, and still there was no sight of the Mount Gundabad. But then he saw it, going up, into the sky. It seemed bigger and darker than the others (which, of course, could have just been the product of his overworked imagination).

It took them some more time to reach it, but they were finally there, in front of the black fortress, the Gundabad orcs' fortress. Its gate was very high; it was also half-open. There was an orc standing there, armed with a curved sword. Thranduil approached him on his elk, leaving his guards behind.

"My army is enough to reduce you all to nothing," he said to the orc. "And we certainly will."

"Original greeting, Elvenking," the orc said and smiled.

It was the first time Thranduil was actually seeing an orc smile, instead of simply grimacing and showing the rotten teeth.

"Surrender," the king said. "If you do, I will spare your lives. Perhaps."

"It does not sound very convincing, let alone logical," the orc said. "Why are you here, Elvenking? You want something that we have, don't you? Your relative maybe? Have you come to beg us to set him free?"

The orc laughed.

"I did not come to beg," Thranduil said. "I never beg. Those who had the fortune, or maybe the misfortune, of meeting me know this well enough."

"They surely do. You reputation precedes you. Have you killed many orcs, Elvenking?"

"Many, but seemingly not enough. There are too many left yet. This opportunity, however, is difficult to overestimate: several orcs, all trapped in a…" Thranduil made a disdainful gesture with his left hand. "What do you call it? A fortress?"

"You won't attack us," said the orc, making a step forward.

"What will stop me? I honestly do not see a single thing that would."

"Your son, for example. From the moment you attack, we'll kill him."

The king squeezed the sword until his fingers started to hurt.

"He will die then," Thranduil said, looking the orc straight into the eyes.

"And you will be left with no heir?" The orc smirked.

"I am an elf, and hence immortal," Thranduil said, lower than he had intended. "Why would I need an heir?"

"It is reasonable."

The orc made a gesture and two other orcs appeared on one of the towers of the fortress. There was someone between them, someone whose head was lowered and whose face was obscured by long blond hair. Thranduil recognized the figure immediately; even if his eyes had been closed, he would have known his son was there.

"Should I order to kill him, Elvenking?" the orc said.

"You do not look like a fool despite being an orc," Thranduil said. "You have no leaders left. Many of you have gone to the Misty Mountains, from what I heard. How many remain here? Twenty? Thirty? I have a highly trained army of loyal elves. What can several orcs do to us? You will all perish. And for what?"

The orc smiled once more, and approached the elk.

"You are right of course," the orc said. "We are outnumbered." He took the elk by the reins; the animal sniffed but did not move. "But holding a leader's son a prisoner gives us certain advantages, don't you think?"

"We will kill you all anyway."

"You may. But from the moment you start, I'll wave my hand, and those two orcs – and they are no less loyal than your elves - will kill him. You will destroy us all but will also lose your son. Would it satisfy you, Elvenking? Maybe you don't really care about him."

Thranduil rubbed his bottom lip and smoothed his red cloak. That cloak had suddenly started feeling very heavy, everything was becoming heavy.

"Do you want to know my conditions?" the orc said, letting the elk go.

"You are in no position of setting conditions."

The orc inclined his head towards the tower, where a blond figure was still staying between the two orcs. The _better alone than in bad company_ proverb had never been so appropriate.

"I would say I am," the orc said. "Go to Rivendell and to Lothlórien, and tell Elrond and that elven witch to stop attacking us and our Master. Also, you must join the Master and be on our side."

Thranduil could not suppress the laughter. Of all the absurd things he had heard lately, that was definitely the funniest one.

"You don't like my conditions?" the orc said, setting his jaw.

"I was wrong," Thranduil said. "You are a fool. All of you are."

The orc held Thranduil's cloak roughly. The Elvenking drew his sword and pointed it towards the orc's chest.

"One more movement and your son will be dead," the orc said through the gritted teeth.

"I have a counteroffer," Thranduil said, without lowering his sword. "We let you live here, on Gundabad. I, for once, promise not to attack you, and you…"

"And we let you son go? The answer is no!"

The movement the orc made was hardly noticeable, and Thranduil had to stop himself from piercing him with the sword. He looked at the tower; his son's head was even lower now. One of the orcs was holding a knife so near Legolas' throat that it must have been cutting the skin. Soon the knife would go deeper and then…

"Another offer then," said Thranduil, jumping from his elk. "He goes, I stay."

The orc smirked, seemingly regaining his composure.

"That was rather unexpected," he said. "And you are willing to stay here? I can't promise you your stay conditions would be worth a king."

"The place in itself is not that bad," said Thranduil looking the orc straight into the eyes, piercing him with his blue stare. "It is its inhabitants that ruin it."

The orc smirked again, hatred evident in all his movements. Thranduil gave a wry smile; it was almost satisfying to see someone wanting to kill you so badly and yet realizing he should not. Almost.

"I will go with you when you set the prince free," Thranduil said, giving the tower a furtive glance.

The orc inclined his head, and the two orcs that were holding Legolas descended slowly. Just seconds later the prince was supported by Thranduil's two guards. There were visible strains of blood on Legolas' torn clothes. Thranduil tried to ignore them; there would time for that later. He himself was being tied by orcs with a long rope. They tied his elk as well, and the animal protested loudly.

Thranduil fought to suppress a grin. Had those brainless creatures really believed he would surrender to them? Now that Legolas was free, there would be nothing to prevent him from attacking them and destroying the whole fortress. There would be no orcs left on the Mount Gundabad.

The noise from behind him made Thranduil turn around. His guards were drawing their swords, and arrows were flying from the tower. Soon the two elves that had been supporting Legolas fell to the ground, arrows protruding from their chests. Another two immediately came to the prince's aid. Legolas was clearly unconscious by then.

And then trolls came. They were as stupid as any other trolls, but bigger than those Thranduil had ever seen. They approached the elven army in gigantic steps and started crushing guards that were staying in circle, protecting Legolas. Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, desperately trying to untie himself with his left hand. When an orc came and dragged Legolas away, back to the Gundabad gate, Thranduil sighed. It was absurd but he was relieved to see his son away from the imminent danger. At least for now.

Trolls' steps resonated in the air, and soon the ground was covered by bodies of dead and dying elves. Beril was still on her horse, holding her sword, an arrow protruding from her arm.

"We surrender!" Thranduil shouted. "I stay here. It is what you need, isn't it?"

"Yes, you stay here," the main orc said, grinning. "We have also thought, Elvenking, that the prince would be taken better care of here, with us. The conditions remain the same. From the moment your army – or what is left of your army - attacks, we kill him. They," he pointed at trolls, "are daft but incredibly helpful. Better war machines than catapults. Talking about catapults, we have plenty of them, and can throw gigantic stones at your guards at any time."

"You must retire," Thranduil shouted to his guards. "Some of you must bring the injured back to the Halls. _Dortha bo in Ered Mithrin_*****."

The prince, surrounded by several orcs, lifted his head, allowing Thranduil to finally have a look at his face. The king did not like what he saw, did not like it at all. There were dark circles under Legolas' eyes, his face not simply pale but grey, his cheeks hollow. There was also blood on his lips.

"_Goheno nin, Adar_******," Legolas said; then he fainted again.

Thranduil clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his right arm. More immortal lives had been lost, and now, instead of having the prince, orcs had also captured him, the Elvenking. His people were left without a king, his Halls were not protected enough, and Legolas was dying.

*****Stay on the Grey Mountains (Sindarin).

******Forgive me, father (Sindarin).

**Thank you very much for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your reviews and for adding my story to the Story Alert or to the Favorite Stories list!**

**Chapter 3**

**The Choice**

They locked him in a dungeon of a tower. The cell was surprisingly spacious – it did not have furniture to fill the space – and Thranduil paced inside it. To the left and to the right, then to the left again. He stopped in the middle and listened – nothing. Just some noises from afar, which was only to be expected, taking into account orcs had never been known for walking silently. He clenched his left fist and continued his pacing. He would have also clenched his right one, but his arm was so swollen by then, he could not move it at all. It was probably broken. It should have worried him but it was not. Legolas' whereabouts were much more important at the moment. The prince was still in Gundabad, but where exactly? There was always the option of asking his guards, but it was very doubtful they would be polite enough to answer.

The door opened, the metallic groan resonating all over the cell.

"The Master wants to see you," an orc said at the threshold. That one did not smile but grimaced like all of them.

"What Master?" said the Elvenking.

"The one that imprisoned you and your bastard."

The orc had hardly finished the sentence when Thranduil's left fist connected to his jaw.

"I will not kill you because I do not have my sword right now and do not wish to dirty my hands," Thranduil said, letting the orc fall to the ground.

"And also because your son will be killed if you do," another voice said.

The main orc, the one Thranduil had been trying to negotiate with at the gate – if that could be called negotiation – was standing at the door, holding a club.

"He will not be killed," said Thranduil, his head high. "You need him."

"We needed him to get you." The main orc shrugged his shoulders. "Now he is just a nice but not indispensable supporting feature. Follow me, Elvenking."

He did not want to, but there was little choice. The main orc stepped aside and six other orcs approached Thranduil and roughly grabbed him by the arms. Then they dragged him through the corridor and several spiral staircases, up and down, up and down. The air was suffocating. Their final stop was a large hall with a table in the middle; too civilized to belong to an orc (he did not even know they ever used tables).

The main orc leaned on the table, his arms crossed. He said:

"Let's talk, Elvenking. I am Hagob the Invincible, the new leader of the Gundabad orcs."

"Of what is left of the Gundabad orcs," Thranduil said. "From what I have seen, there are more trolls than orcs in Gundabad at the moment."

"This may or may not be so," the orc said, smiling again. He was as ugly as all of them, but clearly more intelligent, which, in the present circumstances, was a disadvantage. "You must do as I say or your son will be killed."

Thranduil looked him straight into the eyes. It was satisfying to see the orc's uneasiness.

"Go to Rivendell and to Lothlórien and tell them to leave the Master alone," the orc said. "You must also…"

"I must serve you and do as your master says. You have already told me that. Do you have anything to add? Do not waste my time and yours, go and kill someone of your kind instead and do the Middle Earth a favor."

Thranduil's pierced him with his glare once more and, that time, Hagob returned his gaze, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bare.

"You will live to regret your decision," the orc said, tilting his head to the side and pursing his lips. "Be prepared not to see your son ever again."

When Thranduil returned to his cell, it was equally big but much colder. He sat on the pile of straw, careful not to dirty himself. _Be prepared not to see your son ever again. _His head was turning around, and his pulse had quickened. It probably meant something, but it was irrelevant. All he needed was to put all the distractions aside and think, simply think, coldly and calmly, like he always did. He got up but had to sit down immediately, leaning on the wall. It was cold and, at the same time, suffocating. _Be prepared not to see your son ever again._ Maybe he should have agreed to go to Rivendell and Lothlórien? Just to gain some time, of course.

There was a noise to his left. It sounded as though someone were talking in a very low voice. Then the voice became louder, sounding like a distant and muffled cry. Thranduil got to his feet. His son's voice was unmistakable. The cry came again, louder and, his was sure of it, even more desperate than the first time. Thranduil approached the bars, his chest tightening.

"Call Hagob right now," he said.

The orc guard looked at him and moved away lazily. It took Hagob the Invincible about five minutes to arrive, five minutes during which Thranduil's pace was gradually increasing.

"Have you changed your mind, Elvenking?" Hagob said.

"Bring me to the prince right now."

"You will see him," Hagob said, smiling. "I can't promise you'll like the sight, though."

The cell Legolas was in was considerably smaller. It was also contiguous to his own cell. Legolas was lying on the stone floor, his head leaning on the wall, his eyes closed. Thranduil felt his vision clouding, his ears were pounding. There was blood on Legolas' face and clothes. It was irrelevant right now, he could think about it later. Except that he could not. It was relevant, very relevant, and had to be dealt with immediately.

"I want to talk with the prince alone," Thranduil said, moving slowly towards the orcs.

They hesitated. Hagob crossed his arms, took a step back and then gave a hesitant nod.

"Very well, Elvenking," the orc said. "Then we will resume our conversation."

They exited the cell. They would be near without a doubt, eager to come at the slightest noise, at the slightest move.

The king approached the prone figure and held him. Legolas opened his eyes very slowly. He was an elf; his eyes were not supposed to be closed.

"What were you thinking when you came here?" Thranduil said in a whisper. "I told you to go to the North, to find Strider. Since when have you been ignoring my orders?"

"It was not an order, just a simple recommendation," Legolas said even lower.

They stared at each other for some time, then the prince closed his eyes, and coughed, his whole body shaking. There was blood on his lips. Thranduil examined the cell; there was not even a drop of water in that accursed place.

"I needed answers to my questions," Legolas said, his eyes still closed.

"What questions?"

There was little need in asking, the answer was already clear. There was silence between them; it was not heavy but still uncomfortable. Then Legolas said:

"You are here because of me, and I am very sorry."

He did not ask what the king's plans were, if any. It was obvious that orcs would be listening. Thranduil looked at his son, scrutinizing his face. Even with his eyes closed Legolas managed to look resigned.

"You must go to your cell," a hoarse voice said.

Thranduil turned around. An orc guard was standing there alone, armed only with his sword. There was no one else at the corridor. He looked at Legolas; his head had fallen to his chest. It was now or never.

Even using only one hand, to disarm an orc had been easier than Thranduil had thought. The silly creature had been too surprised and even shocked to oppose resistance, and was soon on his knees in front of the Elvenking. That was the position Thranduil loved, that was what he needed – subordination. He approached Legolas, who was making a strange guttural sound while breathing. There were very good doctors in Thranduil's Halls in Mirkwood. And if they turned out not to be enough, he would call Elrond. He would hate to ask anything to the Lord of Rivendell, but he would, he most certainly would. He looked at the orc, lying half-stunned on the floor.

"Do you want to die?" Thranduil said. The orc shook his head. "Then do as I say, and I will spare your life. Lead us out of the prison right now."

"Others will see," the orc said, his eyes sparkling with hatred and fear.

"Then find the way where they will not."

That way indeed existed. It was underground, which meant going down hundreds of stairs. Legolas, who could hardly move his legs, had to be dragged. It was not difficult, or would not have been if Thranduil had been using his both hands. Anyway, it would all be over soon, they would be free.

"Here," the orc said, pointing to an interminable spiral staircase, illuminated by dim light. "Go up on your own."

"And you will call the others in the meantime," Thranduil said. "No. Go in front of us. Attempt something, and you are dead."

They climbed and climbed, and the light was still as dim as before. Legolas, thankfully, had recovered some of his strength and managed to climb on his own. His clothes were still wet with blood. Once they were out, his injuries would have to be tended immediately.

The Sun appeared unexpectedly, and Thranduil had to cover his eyes with his hand. They were out of the fortress, and the king's grip on the orc's filthy collar tightened.

"Lead us out of Gundabad," Thranduil said.

He could feel the creature trembling, with hatred or fear, or probably both. Then Thranduil heard the strident noise of something big and heavy falling to the ground. He looked around and saw trolls with catapults, throwing enormous stones into the air. His sight, as sharp as his hearing, distinguished birds, flying proudly above the mountain. Some of them had already been hit by the stones and were now lying motionless on the ground. They were eagles. Thranduil waved to them. He was still wearing his considerably dirtied but still bright red cloak. They would see him, had to.

He was indeed seen, not by the eagles, but by the two orcs commanding the trolls. They shouted something in their appalling language; one of them ran towards him and Legolas. Thranduil was still holding the orc's sword. He could kill two, three, four trolls, and much more orcs. But what then? He waved once more; the birds were now flying in circles, crying anxiously.

Several orcs were running towards them now. What then? Then they would kill him. Worse even – they would kill Legolas. One of the eagles was flying towards them, and just a second later the bird was near Thranduil. Now it was the question of speed. Thranduil dragged the already unconscious Legolas and put him on the eagle's back. The orc, whose collar the king was still holding, stretched his hand towards the prince, and, a second later, was silent forever – Thranduil had pierced him with his own sword. The orcs were just at several steps from them now. It was not reasonable, but Thranduil could almost feel their breath, distinguish their rotten teeth, their blood stained eyes. It was indeed unreasonable and therefore dangerous. He had to think clearly, there was no reason why he would not.

Thranduil put his leg over the eagle's back. The bird shook his head, and lifted his left wing; there was blood underneath it. The eagle looked at the king with his sad clever eyes. It was all perfectly clear. The bird had been injured by a stone, and could not carry them both; the weight would be too much for him.

Thranduil wished the decision had been easy to make, but it was not. He was the king, and his people needed him. Of course he also was not eager to die but it was irrelevant. What he wanted or did not want was unimportant; any desire, any emotion had to be ignored mercilessly. And yet he did not want his son to die. He frowned and bit his lip, staring down at the ground. He was the king and his people needed him, but he did not want his son to die. And that desire could not be ignored; it was neither unimportant nor irrelevant. Suddenly Thranduil felt calm and peaceful, strangely peaceful.

Legolas weakly attempted to move away from the eagle's back.

"Mount, quickly," Legolas said. "You must go away from here."

Thranduil stopped him, and there was a sparkle of understanding in Legolas' eyes, though he somehow seemed reluctant to believe it.

"Stay where you are," Thranduil said. "Hold on while you fly. The eagle is injured but I am sure he will not fall."

"No, you must leave, and I stay," Legolas said. "It was my fault after all. I went here to…" He coughed. "I went here to learn how my mother had died. You told me on Ravenhill she had loved me more than anyone, more than life. Yet, you have never talked about her. I wanted to know how…"

The orcs were almost there, and now Thranduil could indeed see his faces clearly, as though they were in one of his frequent nightmares.

"You are the king, your people need you," Legolas said. "I stay in Gundabad, and you must go."

The prince tried to move away, but was stopped by his father's iron grip once more.

"She died here, but you will not," Thranduil said. "You will not die here. This is my decision. Cling on this eagle. This is an order. Your king's order."

Thranduil nodded to the eagle and the bird straightened his wings with difficulty, the blood pouring from his left wing.

"Adar, baw!*****" Legolas shouted, his voice muffled by the wind, he and the eagle already in the air.

"You will be a good king, ion nín," Thranduil whispered before repelling the first blow.

*** **Father, no, don't! (Sindarin)

**Thank you very much for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for your reviews and for adding my story to Alerts and Favorites! **

**Warning: This chapter contains scenes of torture and implied torture, without being graphic. **

**Chapter 4**

**The Special Chamber**

The chain was short and hardly allowed him to approach the straw and to lie down. They took his cloak away, which was rather annoying, as he could have used it as a blanket. There was a dirty loaf of bread and a wooden mug of water on the floor. They were too repulsive to even think about trying them.

The door opened with a cringe, but Thranduil did not look at the newcomer. Whoever it was, it was irrelevant.

"Enjoying your stay, Elvenking?" Hagob the Invincible said.

Thranduil did not answer.

"Do you require anything more from us?" the orc said. "A servant maybe? Or your favorite wine from Lake-town? Pity about Lake-town by the way. Do you think Dale would provide you with similarly good wine?"

There was still no answer.

"You don't feel like talking, I see." The orc's voice was becoming annoyed. "Follow them then." He pointed to two guards standing behind him. "I could say _please_ but you really don't have any choice."

Indeed he did not. They unchained him and escorted along long intricate corridors. There were rats looking at him with their small dark eyes; they must have been hungry. The ground was wet; water was dropping from the ceilings but it hardly mattered now. Thranduil's hair was already in a state it had not been for hundreds of years, hanging lifelessly along his shoulders, all its glisten forgotten. He approached the familiar door and was pushed inside.

Hagob closed the door from behind, leaving sentinels outside without a doubt.

"Do you want some wine, Elvenking?" the orc said, approaching the cupboard.

Thranduil inclined his head. He took the glass full of red liquid, his hand firm, his eyes unblinking, and drank it at a gulp. The orc stood there, smiling.

"Aren't you afraid of being poisoned?" Hagob said.

"And why would you do it?" Thranduil shrugged his shoulders slightly. "You think you need me."

"I think? Does that mean I don't really need you?"

"Wait and see."

The orc approached the table and stood there, his hands behind his back.

"Elvenking Thranduil, I order you to join us, and to do what I tell you to do," Hagob said in a carefully controlled tone. "You must also become intermediate between orcs and elves and humans. You must serve us. Do this and we'll spare your life."

The corners of Thranduil's lips twisted, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Your sense of humor is even better than I have thought," the Elvenking said. "_You_ order _me_? That was the best joke I have heard in thousands of years."

Hagob gave him a glance; the orc's eyes were cold, hard and flinty.

"If it's a joke, you may laugh," Hagob said. "While chained to a wall. Guards!" Two orcs entered the room. "Bring him back to his cell and chain him up to the wall in such a way that he would not move a single muscle. We'll talk again in a couple of days, Elvenking, once you've become more docile."

"Then we will never talk again," Thranduil said.

He did not resist the guards; it would have been hopeless and would only give Hagob the additional reason for being amused. They followed the orders literally; he indeed could not move a single muscle.

He did not know how much time had passed. Hours, maybe days, maybe even weeks. His muscles were getting strained, his throat was dry. When was the last time he had drunk water? The dusty mud was still there, mocking him with its wooden irregular surface.

When the door of his cell finally opened with a groan, his eyes were closed, and he was hanging on the wall lifelessly. He opened them with a start. An elf's eyes were not supposed to be closed. There was only one guard that time. The orc unchained him and dragged along the corridors once more, into the familiar room.

"More wine, Elvenking?" Hagob said. The orc was sitting in the armchair near the table. "Or maybe you prefer some water?"

He got up and stood near Thranduil. The king suppressed a flinch. He was not frightened in the slightest but hated someone invading his personal space, trying, at the same time, to be intimidating. Stepping back, however, was out of question.

"Have you, by any chance, changed your mind?" the orc said.

The Elvenking smiled and moved towards the orc, careful not to touch him. Now it was Thranduil's time to be intimidating.

"Was your mother as repulsive as you are?" Thranduil whispered into the orc's ear. "I find it difficult to imagine a female orc but they must exist, I suppose."

At the end, it was Hagob who stepped back.

"A visit to our special chamber will certainly make you politer, Elvenking," the orc said through clenched teeth, biting his nails into his own palms.

There were corridors and more corridors, all of them long, intricate and wet. Thranduil lost his step twice and had to lean on the wall not to fall. The special chamber. He already knew what it was. It had not been that difficult to guess.

It was not actually that special, just a normal torture chamber, with its instruments. He had seen such chambers before. There was none in his Halls in Mirkwood, though. It was one thing to have dungeons, but to torment your prisoners? He, the Elvenking Thranduil, could have been implacable – some would even call him cruel – but he had never been merciless.

Hagob the Invincible was already there; he must have arrived through another door.

"Lie him down." The orc pointed to the bed covered with leather.

Two other orcs dragged Thranduil and sat him on the bed. They were all armed and he - that had to be admitted - was weak; the resistance would still be futile. Yet Thranduil felt himself struggling. Soon he was tied to the bed by leather strips.

"For the last time, Elvenking," Hagob said, "do you agree to collaborate with us?"

"For the last time, dumb creature," Thranduil said, lifting himself on his left elbow as much as his bonds would allow him, "no."

"You will die then. Very slowly."

Hagob inclined his head and a new orc came into Thranduil's view; he was wearing a leather apron. The Elvenking's heartbeat rose and he started to feel dizzy. His face, however, was neutral, he was sure of it.

The new orc, who could only be qualified as executioner, held big pliers. Struggling would still be useless, now even more than before, and yet…

It took Thranduil some time to thankfully realize it was not he who had screamed, but an orc with pliers, who was covering his face with one hand, blood pouring through his fingers with black nails. Another two blows in the face and two other orcs rolled screaming on the floor. They had done a rather poor job while tying him, too. Who would have said it would be that easy?

Hagob the Invincible was staying at the threshold, the irreplaceable smile on his face.

"Good, Elvenking," the orc said. "You've finally stopped being boring. But it won't lead you anywhere, you know. There're others outside this very door."

"Others?" Thranduil said, breathing heavily. "Are there per chance more orcs on Gundabad? I thought you were the only ones."

Hagob opened his mouth with the clear intention of saying something, but the blow in the face stopped him dead. It was satisfying to realize that even exhausted, thirsty, hungry and with one hand enabled, even without his sword, he could still overcome them.

Despite Hagob's threats, there were no one outside the chamber, and Thranduil ran. Running away was silly, unregal and downright humiliating. It was a long time ago since he had last run from anyone; maybe he never really had. It was a strategic move, however, nothing more and nothing less. Once he was free, they would pay, all of them. There were more orcs on Gundabad, of course there were. He was neither naïve nor delusional enough to believe they were only four or five. And yet they were few and could be quickly killed by his army, waiting, as he had ordered them, on the Grey Mountains.

He ran and ran, his breathing coming out in short gasps. His head was spinning, and his feet slid on the wet ground. He needed to find the exit, needed to find it now. That opportunity was too good to waste.

He brusquely turned to the right, and then stopped. He could have also turned to the left, or continue running straight. There was nothing that would indicate him which way to go, not a single hint. Thranduil sighed heavily and could not help pounding his fist against the wet stone wall several times. Then he stopped, his muscles stiff – there were steps behind him. There was no time to lose, and he followed the path he had chosen.

He ran more and more, his breath sounding like a whistle now; and the more he ran, the closer the steps behind him sounded. He doubled his speed, the muscles of his legs groaning in protest. If only he could hide somewhere and wait till they had passed. He looked to the left and to the right; there was nothing apart from the wall, wet, grey and appereantly thick. And yet, there was a small hole at the base of it. He bent over and examined it closely. He removed one stone, and the ground crumbled under his fingers. He withdrew some more stones and soil. The hole was now almost big enough to let him pass through it. He removed another stones and more wet ground; then some more. It was still very thin but it was enough.

Now he had to crawl, ripping his fine clothes on the dirty ground, dragging his right arm lifelessly behind him. He was digging like a mole, trying to form an underground passage, removing all small or big stones on his way. His fingers were bleeding; he had soil inside his mouth. Worse even - he was lost. He could end up anywhere, even right in the orcs' hands. He could even be trapped there forever. Not forever, until he had died.

A huge stone stood in his way, and he pushed it with all his force – it was unmovable. He pushed once more, veins swelling on his forehead, and had to bite his lip to suppress a groan. The stone was still there, at exactly the same place as before. There were voices outside. They must have found the passage and were now thinking how to dig through it. It would be too thin for any of the orcs right now, but it would take them nothing to enlarge it and then… He pushed the stone once more, unable to suppress a groan that time. It was all useless.

Soon he heard a movement, as though some creature was crawling and panting right behind him. Thranduil was trapped. He left the stone alone. It would have been useless and would only waste his strength, the little strength he had left.

Thranduil knew the orc was there when he felt being dragged by his legs. _Do not dare to touch me; I can go on my own_, he was going to say, but did not. He would not belittle himself by asking anything to those creatures. Once he was out of the hole, he stood up on his own, and was immediately tied and dragged alongside the corridor, back to where he had run from. Back to the special chamber. Hagob was inside the chamber. There was blood on his nose and lips. He was not smiling anymore.

"It was a very useless and a very stupid thing to do, Elvenking," the orc said. "Tie him to the bed again. Use chains on the top of strips this time."

Two orcs grabbed Thranduil roughly, and tied and chained him to the bed. His right hand, which he tried to ignore before, was on fire now. His clothes were hanging from him like rags. Hagob came near and looked at him from above.

"I realize it would be futile, but will still be nice and ask you one more time," Hagob said. "Will you join me?"

Thranduil looked at him, hoping to concentrate all his disdain, all his contempt and despite in one look. It must have worked – the orc stepped back, something close to fear in his eyes. Then Hagob approached the smoking chimney, took a hot iron poker with red point, and came near the bed. The orc's smile had returned.

"You will join us," Hagob said. "Or you'll die here."

He applied the poker to Thranduil's bare shoulder.

**Thank you very much for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you all for your reviews and for adding my story to Alerts and Favorites!**

**Chapter 5**

**The Habit of Living**

Lights. He was seeing them above his head, though they were not supposed to be there. It had to be dark all around him.

How many days and nights had he been in that place? Everything was turning, the ceiling above his head, the ground under his feet. He wished they would be quiet for some time.

Sometimes there were voices, and he would lift his head with irritation, his chains rattling at the movement. From time to time, someone would approach his cell, and Thranduil would pierce the newcomer with his eyes. It was not always possible to tell who it was; he could always see in the dark before. Not anymore. _Before_ had ceased to exist, there was only _now. _And that _now_ would soon disappear as well; there would be nothing. He would be dead.

Once and again an orc would come to his cell, and drag him through the long, narrow corridors to the special chamber.

"You look so utterly indifferent to everything around you, including your own life, Elvenking," Hagob the Invincible once said. "But I know you don't want to die, you have developed that habit of living."

Thranduil would not answer; not then, not after that. He would not say them anything anymore. He did not have to talk to them in the first place, those filthy, pathetic creatures. He was filthy now too; his once beautiful garments were loosely hanging from him.

One day, after coming back to his cell, they did not chain him to the wall anymore, just locked his chain to a huge metallic ring protruding from the wall. He reclined on the straw, and closed his eyes wearily, everything around him gradually ceasing to exist. When he woke up, the first thing he noticed was that straw was covered in blood. He could not see it – he could not see anything – but there was that appalling sticky touch under his fingers. He tore his clothes and applied a dirty self-made bandage to the wound on his leg. The habit of living. That orc had been right after all.

The day after that had been different too (or maybe it was night, he did not distinguish them anymore). They took him to the special chamber as always, they tied him as always, but then Hagob started asking questions.

"Where is your army, Elvenking?" the orc said.

Thranduil ignored him. It had also become a habit.

"On the Grey Mountains?" Hagob said.

Thranduil turned his head furtively and groaned as leather strips bit into the flesh on his neck.

"I understand Sindarin, you see," the orc said. "You told them to wait on the Grey Mountains. What are they waiting for? Are they going to attack us?"

_Are you afraid of this?_ Thranduil was going to say. He did not, though. Not talking to those creatures, not reacting to their provocations had become for him a matter of principles.

"Even if they are waiting for you, they have no leader, do they?" Hagob said.

Thranduil clenched his teeth.

"I mean, your son; I suppose you know he is dead?" The orc gave Thranduil an intense stare. "Did you really think you would save him?"

There was suddenly very little air inside the chamber.

"That eagle was injured and they both fell," Hagob said. "I saw it with my own eyes."

He was lying. He certainly was. That could not, simply could not be true. The orc had seen that they were getting nothing from him, and decided to use that last resort. How could he have seen the eagle, if he flew away immediately? He himself had seen him fly. But they could have fallen after that, they could have… No! What he needed now was to calm down and to stop thinking about that.

He was hardly conscious when they brought him back to his cell, but was quickly recovered that time. Something had to be done. He would have gotten to his feet and started pacing the cell had it not been for that damned chain. He would have brought that door down, would have killed them all. He pressed his left temple, there was a noise inside his head, and it had to go away.

_I want to die_. Someone had said that recently. Someone, who should have never pronounced those words, an elf. Who was it? The eagle could not have fallen; the injury had not been that serious. Legolas must be recovering now. Because if he was not, it would mean he was… Thranduil bit his bottom lip and blinked furiously. It would mean he was indeed dead. _I want to die_. It had been Tauriel who had said that. He had not understood it back then. Now he did.

He spent some more time in that cell; maybe just minutes, maybe years. He did not know, it hardly made any difference. There was a cringe of the opening door. Now the usual routine would follow. They would drag him through the hardly illuminated corridor, and it all would go on, without any change, without any hope of revenge. Unbearable pain and humiliation.

"Get up," an orc said.

Thranduil did not know why they still addressed him; he had stopped answering their inane talk long time ago. The orc unchained him and dragged him alongside the corridor. The torch the orc was carrying seemed brighter than usually, its light reflected in the knife at the orc's belt. The orc held him by the arm, and Thranduil clenched his teeth, making the orc smile. They did it all on purpose, all the time. It brought them pleasure to make him suffer; they certainly wished he had not been that stoical. If he had only managed to escape, to come back to Mirkwood, he would have cut that orc's head off. Personally.

Rats were invariably watching him, their eyes gleaming in the dark. The orc's knife was gleaming as well, tempting Thranduil with its light. Suddenly the orc stumbled; there must have been a stone under his foot. Thranduil stretched his hand towards his belt. Then they continued their journey. Orcs were indeed silly. That one did not have his knife anymore, and had not even noticed. The door to the special chamber was getting alarmingly near.

He hit the orc right between the eyes, and the creature went down on his knees, without making a single sound, with a look of surprise and his body convulsing. There would be no opportunity of cutting his head off after all. Thranduil approached him, now it was the Elvenking who was smiling. It took him some a considerable effort to take the knife from the already dead orc's forehead. Being able to use only his left arm was a terrible nuisance.

He had to run once more, air whistling in his ears. He stopped every two minutes to catch his breath; there were black spots dancing before his eyes in some crazy, frenzied dance. His heart was pounding. It meant he was not dead after all.

His stumbled and almost fell, having to lean on the wall to keep his balance. A dim light shone in front of him; so near, he could certainly reach it with his hand. He ran once more, a hand on his chest. Once he was out of that accursed fortress, he would make them pay. All of them. He would not simply cut their heads off. No, that would be too merciful. He could not have had his revenge on the dragon that had burnt him, but he would have it now. If he managed to escape with life.

The light was nearer and nearer with every tortuous step. It had to be a way out. One of the many ways out. He should only make a few more steps and… The ground disappeared under his feet and he fell.

There was something lying under him, something hard and stinky. That damned light hardly illuminated those things; they were bones, elf's bones. He threw them away. Ne needed to go away from that hole right now, to climb up somehow!

"We will be forever together, until the end," she had told him.

They would not. She, his wife, had been dead for very long, long even by elven standards. She was still there, on Gundabad. Maybe those bones were hers. Thranduil tried to sit up, but was only rewarded by a new wave of dizziness. The semidarkness was turning around him in even more frenzied carrousel; his heart was pounding as an animal wanting to escape from the cage. Too much blood. He had lost too much blood, and had suffered far too much to survive it. He would die very soon. Hopefully, before they found him. And Legolas… He was alive, he most certainly was. He could not die as well. That would have been too much.

Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes. He was not a king anymore. He had lost his kingdom along with his freedom; he had not been able to protect himself against a group of miserable pathetic dumb creatures. He had no kingdom or, better said, that was his kingdom, the one among that darkness. Darkness from which there was no way to escape because it had been a part of his life for more than he cared to remember.

**Thank you very much for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you very much for your reviews and for adding my story to Alerts and Favorites!**

**Chapter 6**

**The Rope**

He was lying on the wet stinky ground. _I want to die. _He really did not want that, and it was even more terrifying. There was something inside him that held on to life, and he hated and despised himself for it. Now they would come and it would be repeated over and over again. They would not kill him, not immediately. They enjoyed that situation far too much to want to change it any time soon.

There was a distant noise above his head. There they were, coming for him. His heart started pounding. It was not supposed to; he should not have felt even remotely worried by their presence. The noise was coming near and soon he saw one of those unpleasant silly faces. An orc was bent over the hole Thranduil had fallen into. The orc waved his hand, and another orc approached and stared down as well.

"You are thinking about what to do, aren't you?" Thranduil said. "Thinking must not be an activity you are used to."

The second orc bared his teeth in a grimace.

Thranduil sat down, his back leaning on the wet wall. He had to appear perfectly calm.

The solution took its time to arrive to orcs' heads. When it finally had, Thranduil saw a long rope going down. He was supposed to climb up, and he did. It would be better anyway than being pulled up by one of those creatures.

The climb had taken him more time than he had wished. That hand of his, he would never be able to use it anymore.

They started tying him immediately. It was unpleasant to realize how used he had become to being tied. Then they dragged him along those corridors to his cell. Or to the special chamber.

"The master will punish you, stubborn elf," one of the orcs said. "He will punish you right now."

It was to the special chamber then. Thranduil felt his muscles quiver, his mouth getting dry. Those orcs were not carrying any knives, daggers or swords; at least he could not see them. They had two bows though, one each. Thranduil rubbed his good hand through his sticky hair. It was useless, it would end the same way as before. Yet… He stretched his hand towards one of the bows, like he had recently done with the knife.

They struggled much more than the other orc had. One of them grabbed Thranduil's neck with both hands, and squeezed it until those black spots were back, right in front of his eyes. He seized the orc's bow and hit his head several times. The orc still struggled, but much weaker now. The other one was lying at the Elvenking's feet, he was not moving. Thranduil would have sworn the creature's neck was broken. It was he who had broken it. Probably. He did not remember it well; he did not remember anything well. It was for better. That way he would not remember how he failed to protect her, to save her life.

The body of the orc he had been holding was going limp now. It was remarkable how many things it was possible to do with only one hand. Thranduil started walking along the hated corridors. Just walking first; then he increased his speed. And then he ran like he had never run in his long life. He could escape, he could finally escape. And he would. That time he would.

The interminable corridors were getting narrower and narrower, and were finally transformed into some phantasmagoric labyrinth. Thranduil's breathing was coming in short gasps. Those damn black spots! When will they finally go away? And then he saw it. The intricate spiral staircase was going up, towards the fresh air, towards the Sun, towards the freedom.

It was almost easy to climb, his injured arm forgotten. Just some more stairs and… The air hit his face. It certainly was not fresh, simply could not be on that infected place, but yet it was the air from outside, not the vapors of underground dungeons. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling a dizziness pass over him. There was not time for that, though. He was not free yet, far from that.

He bent over the parapet. He was on the top of one of the towers of the fortress. It may have been the same one from which Legolas managed to escape with the eagle's help. Or not; they all looked the same. The tower was not the highest one he had seen, but was still high enough to make him break his neck if he jumped. To believe that eagles would appear once more would be preposterous. The noble birds had more important things to do than saving elves, wizards and humans from orcs' hands. Thranduil was on his own and only on his own. On the other hand, it had always been like that. Loneliness was not something he had to get used to.

He scanned the view under himself once more. Desolate dark mountains with bats flying above them. But then he saw something more, something that had not been there just a minute before. His eyes were hurting from the unaccustomed light, he was sure they were red and swollen. And yet his sight was acute; not as acute as it used to be but acute nevertheless. At the very base of the mountain stood two elves. One of them was blond, dressed in brown clothes. Thranduil's heart jumped - it was Legolas! He could not see his face, but he was sure it was he. The other elf's head was covered with hood. They were both armed with bows.

Thranduil's limbs suddenly became light, and he felt heat radiating through his chest. He was alive! Legolas was alive! Even from that distance Thranduil could see that he was looking tense and tired, but he was alive. That was all that counted. It would not be the same with his son as it had been with her, all those years ago. Or maybe it would? Where was the rest of his army? Thranduil's chest tightened, the pleasant heat he had been feeling disappeared immediately. Was Legolas going to attack practically on his own? If he was, he simply would not survive it.

There was some noise down the tower. He looked through an arrow-slit, and saw some orcs walking along the path near the tower. Climbing from the tower was out of question. He could have attempted it with a rope, but there was no rope in sight.

There was some movement below and he looked at Legolas, whose head was turned to Thranduil's direction. He son had seen him, Thranduil was sure of it. More orcs approached the base of the tower, and Thranduil bent down. The last seen he needed now was to be seen. The heat inside his chest was back but it was not pleasant anymore; all the logical thoughts seemed to freeze inside his head.

A scream brought him out of reverie. An orc right below him fell to the ground, his chest pierced by an arrow. Legolas had decided to attack them then, with the help of just one elf. Unless the rest of the army was hiding behind the rocks, that was a reckless and downright foolish thing to do.

More arrows arrived and more orcs fell. Some of them had not even had time to scream before they died. Legolas had always been an excellent archer, and not even days of imprisonment and deprivation could have changed that. And surely fresh air and staying away from Gundabad had made him heal much faster.

One of the orcs threw a huge stone to Thranduil. The stone touched the Elvenking's hair, and noisily fell to the ground. Thranduil took it and threw it away, aiming at the orc's head. He hit his target, sending the orc to the ground. It was satisfying to see that his own aim had not been deteriorated, at least not gravely.

Suddenly he heard a loud knock at the door of the tower. Someone was trying to bring the door down, someone big and strong. Thranduil turned his head furtively; Legolas was fighting a huge troll who was throwing stones at him, while the elf with the hood fired arrows at two orcs. Thranduil paced back and forward, pressing his fist to his mouth. To be staying there without being able to do anything! The noise on the other side of the door increased, and he took a deep breath. He had to be calm. He had almost always managed that before; why was it suddenly so difficult now? The lock on the door was surely good, after all.

A metal sound made him turn around. There was a hook clang to the parapet wall; it was tied to the rope. He bent over and saw Legolas' companion staying under the rope. The hood had partly slid from the elf's face, and Thranduil distinguished the red locks. It was Tauriel.

"Go down right now!" Tauriel shouted.

_Right now_! There was neither _please_, nor _My Lord_. Was she ordering him what to do? Did she, by chance, think she had some right to do so? She, who had dared to disobey him, insult him, doubt him and betray him. She, who most certainly hated him more than anyone else in the world. Thranduil crossed his arms and looked at her from above, a wry smile on his lips.

"Please, go down!" she shouted again.

It was better that time; at least there was a _please_. Yet, he was not going to do as she had said. Even if that would have been the most logical thing to do. Once those orcs had brought that door down, he was going to face them and kill them all. And then… The door cracked, and Thranduil's head swam. He looked down at himself, and saw crimson stains organized in peculiar patterns all over his clothes. His ears were pounding.

He looked down the parapet. Tauriel was not shouting any more, she was helping Legolas, sending one arrow after another to the troll's head, until the creature reeled back and fell like a gigantic tree that had just been cut. Legolas ran towards the tower.

"Adar, please go down!" the prince shouted.

It was different now, Thranduil thought. It was Legolas who was asking him that, not the treacherous former Captain of the Guard.

He held the rope with his left hand, and started his descent, his body groaning in protest. The black spots in front of his eyes were back. He let the rope slid gently through his hand, and lowered himself a little more. There was some commotion under him. He attempted to look down, but the wave of dizziness forced him to hold his head up. The rope slid again; it felt as though the skin of his hand was being slowly burnt. Some more, just a little more, and he would be on the ground, fighting at his son's side. He would ask him where the elven army was; they surely were hiding somewhere near. That sudden attack must have been a strategic movement from Legolas' part. The skin on his hand was turning apart; he could feel it with every nerve of his body. Maybe, if he let go of the rope… No, it was still too high.

The door of the tower groaned and flew open, as though blown away by the wind. Two orcs looked at Thranduil from above, shouting something in their language. Then one of them unhooked the rope from the parapet wall.

**Thanks a lot for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you very much for your reviews and for adding my story to Alerts and Favorites, and sorry for the delay!**

**Chapter 7**

**Shadows**

Someone's hands lifted him; everything was flouting around. Those flying objects were seemingly aiming at him. It took him some time to realize that they were Legolas' arrows, being fired at another troll. How many trolls were there in that accursed place? Thranduil reached to where his sword should have been instinctively, and found just ragged dirty clothes instead. He bent to the ground; there had to be some stone, something to throw to the troll. A point of a sword appeared in front of his eyes, and he immediately got up. Tauriel was there, handing him a sword. The Elvenking held his head up. It was painful; his shoulders, neck and back agonized from the effort, but he had to stand upright in front of her.

"The last time you pointed an arm at me, former Captain of the Guard," Thranduil said, "was to threaten me with it. Is it so this time?"

"You know well enough it is not," Tauriel said.

She rubbed the back of her neck and quickly blinked.

"Why should I know it?" he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"If what you want right now is to admonish me, you can do so," she said. "Do it while your son is risking his life trying to save yours."

She turned away abruptly, and Thranduil looked at Legolas, who was pointing his dagger to an orc's shoulder while being attacked by a huge troll at his back.

"Former Captain of the Guard," Thranduil said; Tauriel turned around. "Give me this sword."

She approached him, and handed the sword to him once more, her gaze glued to the ground. He took it with his good hand, and turned around. His head was swimming; those black spots were back again, clouding his vision. Where was the last time he had taken a rest?

It was not difficult to use the sword with the first orc. The creature was dumb and slow, and Thranduil pierced his chest with his sword. The second one turned out to be more difficult; he was smaller and was constantly turning around until the Elvenking finally finished him too. Thranduil's sword fell to the ground. Everything, trees, mountains, trolls, orcs, were turning around now. He would not be able to last much longer. Where was his army?

Legolas was immediately near him. The prince's eyes were red; it was clearly taking him an enormous effort to continue fighting.

"Where are the rest of elves?" Thranduil said.

"They are hiding behind the mountains," Legolas said. He pointed at two orcs running towards them. "They must not know anything; this is an ambush. We must drive them out of the fortress. The army will attack them then."

More blows and blood followed. More exhausting moments. Surprisingly, neither he nor Legolas had been injured yet. Thranduil glanced to Tauriel's direction, just in time to see piercing an orc's chest. She was well too. Thranduil wept sweat from his forehead, and sat on the ground, holding his sword near to him. It would be over soon; they would win, drive out those creatures to the mountains, and then… His eyelids were heavy, his head was falling. If he could take a small rest, just for a couple of minutes…

Mirkwood was all full of light; the trees were reflecting in it. There were birds everywhere, singing their bizarre songs. The Elvenking's Halls were brighter than ever. Was it all a dream, a product of his tired imagination? It could not be. It was too beautiful, too peaceful; it had to be true. The fountains were limpid, the forest green. His throne stood there with all its magnificence, with all its wooden glory. And he, the Elvenking, was sitting on it, watching his subjects with a benevolent, slightly mocking smile, like he always had.

"Get out from Gundabad!"

That had to be true. It was too real to be just a dream. And he was not sleeping; therefore could not be dreaming.

"Go away and never come back!"

Thranduil's opened his eyes with a start. They had been closed after all.

Legolas, with a bow pointing to a horde of orcs, was standing near the gates. Orcs were surrounding him, throwing what were surely insults to the Elven Prince. But they did not dare to attack him directly, not anymore. Thranduil felt lightheaded and swallowed quickly.

When they finally moved towards the gates, he was not even surprised. Legolas has assured him they would drive them from the Gundabad, and they did. They were stronger; there could be little doubt of that.

He walked towards the place where his son was standing, heavily leaning on a wall.

"The army is waiting them outside," Legolas said in a whisper.

Thranduil looked at him. Legolas eyes were even redder than before. He was clearly tired, but there was a glimpse of triumph in his eyes. Legolas threw a glance at his father, and Thranduil caught a look of extreme worry in his son's eyes. He would not tell him anything, though, Thranduil was sure of it. They would return to the Mirkwood soon, and once there, doctors would help the Elvenking, he would be better, would sit on his throne again.

Thranduil looked around; there was not any sight of Tauriel anymore. Legolas seemed calm though, so it was improbable something may have happened to her. His son's attachment to the former Captain of the Guard sometimes seemed unreasonable. The absence of Hagob among the orcs moving towards the gates was more worrying though. It was possible that the self-appointed leader was lying dead somewhere, but it was not improbable.

The orcs were going through the gates, hatred evident on their faces. They were not struggling though, powerless without their leader. Thranduil sat on a heavy stone, his legs giving away under him. He closed his eyes for a while. The sound that followed was so sudden, it seemed surreal. Thranduil's hastily opened eyes to a painfully bright light emanating from a torch right in front of his face. He lifted his head and saw Hagob the Invincible standing above him.

Legolas was there in a second, his arrow pointing to the orc's chest, his face distorted with not hidden disgust. Hagob curled his lips into a smile.

"Your son is alive, after all," the orc said. "Who would have thought he would survive?"

"Keep back or I will put this arrow inside your chest," Legolas said, his hand firmly on the bow.

"Have you been so saddened by your stay with us, Elvenking, that you require the use of the personal bodyguard right now?" Hagob said.

Thranduil lowered his son's arrow, and Legolas shook his head slowly, disbelief and worry in his eyes.

"I will surely not require anyone to finally free the Middle Earth from your presence," Thranduil said.

Hagob did not wait for another invitation, and struck immediately, lowering the heavy wooden club on the Elvenking's head, not giving Thranduil any time to repel the blow, and sending him to the ground. Legolas rushed to his father's side immediately and gave him his hand.

"You see, Elvenking," the orc said, the grin on his face even wider, "you need assistance after all."

"I do not think you should…" Legolas said.

"Step back, Legolas," Thranduil said.

The Elvenking rose to his feet, holding his head high. Those black spots in front of his eyes, they were back once more, blurring his vision. He held the handle of the sword tightly in his hand.

The second blow was heavy too, but the managed to repel it, stopping the club with his sword. He took a glimpse of Legolas, an unmistakable look of worry written on his face. No matter what he said, there was no way to prevent the prince from standing there, watching them fight. The club was raised once more, and, despite Thranduil's quick movement to the left, hit him on the shoulder with its weight. If he could only use both hands!

The orc's weapon was getting up and down, up and down, without any pause. Thranduil's breathing was coming in short painful gasps, his vision was completely blurred now, and he was moving in shadows, hearing the orc but hardly seeing him. The tremor that was shaking Thranduil was threatening to become overwhelming; he could hardly raise his left arm with the heavy sword.

Legolas was nearer now, Thranduil could feel his presence, could sense his son's worry, his urge to intervene at any moment. It would be so easy to step back and let Legolas finish, so tempting… And to compromise his honor, to become a coward incapable of dealing with one orc on his own? Death was preferable to that fate.

Thranduil lifted his sword once more, his hand shaking more than he would care to admit, and hit Hagob on the head, provoking the orc's roar of rage. Thranduil gave a wry smile. His opponent was clearly becoming weaker; just a couple of blows and… He lifted his sword, hoping to hit the orc before he would even have time to use his club one more time. Thranduil was tired, too tired, and the shadows around him were becoming denser with every shuddering intake of air.

The blow that landed on the Elvenking head almost did not take him by surprise. He had been imprisoned, mistreated and tortured for far too long to be able to win that battle. He fell to his knees. Legolas would kill that orc now. And later the prince would return to Mirkwood and become a king. And he would marry Tauriel, who would become a queen. Thranduil smiled inwardly. That thought, instead of angering him, suddenly seemed funny. Tauriel sitting on a throne near Legolas, smiling benevolently to their subjects. Who would ever think that possible?

There was some commotion near him. He could swear he heard his son's voice. He attempted to get up, but his body had suddenly become so unbearably heavy that he could not raise it from the ground. Shadows around Thranduil were not shadows anymore, they were complete impenetrable darkness.

**Thank you for reading!**


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